Like many folks in Columbus, I read with strange fascination the account of Monday's Columbus Municipal School Board meeting, which shows there is no accounting for taste, I suppose.
One of the hardest things to understand about the whole Bowe Bergdahl exchange is how the White House could be so hopelessly tone deaf as to not understand what was going to happen next.
"Every dog has its day," goes the old saying. Finally, every Rebel does, too.
A plague of heroin addiction is upon us. Another plague. Heroin was the crisis that prompted Richard Nixon to launch the war on drugs in 1971.
Sitting on the homemade bench, my one hand rested on Rex's head. My fingers moved slowly and absentmindedly around his neck and over his long ears. The other hand held a book while I read to him.
When a Sunday school class needs to elect a treasurer, a name is put forward and everybody says "aye." That's that. Nice and simple.
Friday was the 70th anniversary of D-Day. It's a day when I always think of my Uncle Orman Kimbrough.
In the spring Columbus residents quietly and with little fanfare transform their town into an oversized botanical garden.
Barack Obama need not ask how well he's doing in coal country, because the answer is always the same: Not well.
Due to a last-minute alteration in the arrangements, I didn't arrive on the beachhead until the morning after D-day, after our first wave of assault troops had hit the shore.
I took a walk along the historic coast of Normandy in the country of France.
In the preceding column we told about the D-day wreckage among our machines of war that were expended in taking one of the Normandy beaches.
There was a jogger the other day trotting down Starkville's Main Street and he conjured up a dreadful case of jealousy that lingers even now.
You know you have a habit when you preform the behavior even without thinking about it. Case in point: Columbus city government.
It is irreversible now. And there's a word that should get everybody's attention.
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